Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
It's something else.
Some burden he left on my shoulders.
Some burden I'm releasing.
This is it. My last promise to my best friend. My final chance to protect him.
When I finish my last lecture, I feel it lift. All at once, I'm a million pounds lighter.
I nearly float home.
Even with Opal, with every molecule in my body desperate to claim her, I hold true to my promise to help her. We spend our last work session putting the finishing touches on her project.
We work through dinner (obscenely spicy Thai food). We work past our usual stopping time. We work until we're done.
"There." She stands and stretches her arms over her head. "Is that really it? Is it really done?"
"It is."
"That's… the end, isn't it?"
"The beginning," I say.
She doesn't argue. "I… I made something for you. For… later." She blushes and bends to pull something from her backpack. A set of drawings.
Two portraits. One of her. One of me.
Two halves of a whole.
Both perfect in their pop art collage.
Bold colors, thick lines, clear expressions.
The two of us, tied together, forever in her work.
It's perfect.
"Thank you." A million words rise in my throat. None are right. None are enough.
I don't want to say goodbye to her.
I don't want to let go of her.
I don't want to let go of Raul.
It's tangled. It's fucked up.
I care about her. I do. And I want the best for her. I want the world for her.
But that isn't enough.
"Opal—" I don't know what to say. How to explain it. How to leave her better than I found her, so she knows how much she means to me, so she's free to spread her wings.
"Don't tell me if you don't like it. I'd rather pretend."
"I love it."
"Then… let's leave it there, okay?" She blushes. "I'll imagine it hanging on your walls in California."
"In my bedroom," I say.
"You don't want people to see?"
"I want it to be mine."
"Will you… I know… will you send me a picture when you hang it? If you hang it? Please."
"Yes." I place the art on my desk and wrap my arms around her. "Thank you."
"It's nothing."
It's everything, but I don't say that. I still don't know what to say. Only what I owe her: one last lesson. "Can you spend the night?"
"Sure."
"I don't have the energy to do this properly."
"In the morning then?"
"In the morning."
She beams. It's too much. It's selfish, inviting her into my bed, but I do it anyway.
I help her pack her things; I walk her to my place; I make the space comfortable for her.
She showers, dresses in one of my spare t-shirts, settles into my bed.
She's perfect there.
And I want her there, forever.
But I can't have that.
I can only have this.
For the first time in a long time, my sleep is free. Easy. My morning is sweet.
We linger over breakfast and coffee, until she's wearing her eagerness on her face.
And then I begin.
"Go to the bedroom and wait," I say.
"For how long?"
"Until I decide you've waited long enough."
Chapter Twenty
MAX
Before my ex and I drifted apart, we tried to make it work.
We were a good fit, intellectually. The same goals. Overlapping interests. Complementary strengths.
But here?
We never really fit.
She tried, but she liked what she liked.
No rope.
No orders.
Certainly no punishments.
At the time, I resented her lack of willingness to experiment. Now? Preparing to step into my bedroom and role-play a scenario with Opal? One that barely qualifies as role-play?
I didn't give Cassie enough credit.
My heart is thudding.
My breath is choppy.
My stomach?
The mix of nerves and need have me in free fall. I want to give this to her. That, I understand.
But the level of my desire?
It's terrifying.
How can I want to hurt this woman who trusts me?
Even if it's what she wants too.
I have experience here. I have wisdom. I'm here to teach her.
It's fucked up beyond belief. This entire situation is fucked up beyond belief.
But it's what we both want.
And, for the first time in a long time, I'm giving in to that.
I take a deep breath and release a steady exhale.
Bit by bit, breath by breath, I let go of my anxiety.
I step into my role.
I count to ten. Fifty. A hundred.
I slip into the room.
Opal is sitting on the black sheets, her legs pressed together, her hands on her knees, her attention on me.
She's wearing the same outfit—dark jeans and a hot pink blouse. The bedroom is arranged the same way—the bed against the wall, parallel to the mirror, perpendicular to the window.
But the air is different. The air is charged with the electric current running between us.
"Ms. Pierce." I push an exhale through my nose. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting," she says.
She enjoys waiting. It winds her tighter. It does my job for me.
I should appreciate it, revel in making her wait, but I'm lacking patience. I'm always lacking patience with her.